


By Their Own Beauties

by Rubynye



Series: Five Het Stories About The Robins [5]
Category: DC Comics
Genre: F/M, One of My Favorites, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Took you long enough," Robin whispers, and kisses him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Their Own Beauties

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how tempted I was to list the pairing as simply Robin/Robin.

Title: By Their Own Beauties  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: "Took you long enough," Robin whispers, and kisses him back.  
Pairing: Robin III/Robin IV (Steph/Tim)  
Warnings/Features: het, schmoop, toys.  
Spoilers For/Based On: Set in the LSU.  
Most Excellent Beta-Reader: [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=_marcelo)[**_marcelo**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=_marcelo)  
Dedicated To: The SpandexForever Ladies. Because.  
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics.  
Title from: My favorite Shakespeare soliloquy, _Romeo and Juliet_ Act III scene 2 lines 1-25.

 

When Tim gets up in the morning, he'll be eighteen years old. He might, technically, be eighteen already, since he was born at 2:53 AM; perhaps that's what gave him an affinity for this time of day. Turning eighteen is traditionally the passage to adulthood, but that concept seems rather arbitrary for someone raised in Gotham, let alone a Robin. There's something a little arbitrary about birthdays in general, when there are so many more formative dates in people's lives. Certainly in his.

His window creaks, and he smiles into his pillow. On the other hand, there _is_ something to be said for birthdays.

A puff of warmth through the air conditioning. The bed dents lightly beside his leg, the pattern of the dip suggesting a knee. "Hey, Robin. Happy birthday." The cape crinkles as it falls, the window shuts with a soft whumph. "I know you're awake." The familiar voice has a familiar smirk in it. "Wanna know how I can tell?" Two more soft thuds, presumably boots hitting the floor. "The way you're breathing." Another rustle of armored cloth, and a gauntleted hand on his shoulder, and it's progressively harder not to smile. "And you'd be awake a long time before I got close enough to do this." The hand slides cool up his neck, and he resists trembling beneath it with some difficulty. "Okay, then, Sleeping Beauty." Warm breath on his ear. "Play it that way."

The gauntlet tangles lightly into his hair. Soft lips brush his cheek. Tim rolls, wrapping his arms tightly around the armor-suited teen wonder kneeling over him, and meets the slick sweet mouth with his own. "Hey, Robin," he murmurs.

"Took you long enough," Robin whispers, and kisses him back.

Tim buries both his hands in soft thick hair and tucks a leg up, careful of his bandages and the utility belt. Robin tastes like grape Zesti and the tang of the city, smells like fresh sweat and humid night air, wriggles slick-suited under his bare fingers and giggles into his mouth. Wishing a little he had his gauntlets to improve his grip, Tim breathes a laugh in response, and then just breathes as Robin's gauntlets brush his waist with cool texture, catching his tee and pushing it up.

For a moment, he doesn't do anything but feel, Robin's weight and Robin's hands and Robin's bruisingly happy kisses; then as Tim ducks out of his shirt he carefully unfastens the utility belt, and Robin pulls his shirt away and laughs at him. "Hey, I might need that!"

"You've got the holsters." Tim reaches down to set the belt on the floor, squeezing Robin's thighs with his. The growl is a little too deep for kittenish and a little too hot for Tim's coherence to last, as that bright perfect grin glints in the meager indirect streetlight and he lunges up to meet it. He'd be pulling too hard and kissing too hard, but he's kissing Robin, who tugs his lip with her teeth and pulls his boxers off his hips and strokes him with her textured gauntlet till he gasps.

When he traces the curve of Robin's breasts, looking for which panel's the charged one this month, she pulls back from his mouth, grabbing his wrist in her free hand. "Ah-ah-ah." Robin pushes, and Tim pushes back long enough to make her grin widen and sharpen, feels the strength in her squeeze as she presses his wrist to the bed. "Not the tunic, not yet."

"What if I just want to touch you?" Tim smirks up at Robin; she smiles back, face alight all the way up to the smooth blankness of her mask. In the faint dull light she's almost brighter than his unaided vision should allow, her hair lush and wild and her headband a couple degrees askew. He reaches up and pulls it out, careful of the sharp points, and wonders if she used it tonight.

"As if, Boy Wonder. I don't wanna be distracted from your present. Help me with the hotpants?" He knows there's a wink behind her mask; she probably barely feels it when he rubs his hand down her armored back but she shudders along with him. Beneath her shorts he's expecting soft lacy panties over warm skin, but when he peels them down and strokes upwards he finds broad straps crisscrossed around her hips.

"Ta-dah!" She loves successfully surprising him, and he lets her see that she has. They hadn't really settled on anything... but she's Robin. Of course she got it. "Yeah, I thought you'd like it." He's stroking the straps where they curve around her, nubbly over her smooth skin. Possibly he should stop. "Happy birthday, sweetie." No, he doesn't need to stop. The contrasting textures are a little mesmerizing, leading his hand all the way around to the small of her back before he really tracks the movement.

She lets go of his wrist, stroking up the inside of his arm, and he can't keep either hand off her hips. Tim stares up at Robin, his hands on the harness and his eyes on her smile, and opens his mouth, and says, "Wow."

Robin snickers fondly and kisses him, hard and eager. "Tights," she mutters over Tim's buzzing lips, and he reaches for one holster as she pushes, balanced on her other knee; he refastens it one-handed so he can drag his fingertips up her other thigh, feeling the firm tension in the muscle. She giggles into his mouth, and when he presses his hand flat she swats it away and nips his lower lip. "Stop that! Want me to fall?"

"You won't fall. Robin." Her breath is warm on his cheek as she smiles over his mouth. The first time he called her Robin she smiled, and the next, and every time after that; it took her six months before she could keep her face completely still while on the street. Here in his bed she doesn't have to, and he can smile back when she purrs low and pleased, kissing him one more time before kneeling up.

"So I put this on on the roof of the Adlai." He lifts the other holster, and she finishes tugging her shorts and tights off, tossing them away. "And I figured I'd get here in ten minutes, but I looked down and three big guys were beating up a little one. So I evened the odds." He snaps the other holster back in place and tucks his fingers under it, and she shudders a little and breathes a laugh and lets him pet her. "It was a little binding in the kicks, but it kinda made sense to break it in that way, you know?"

"It doesn't smell new anymore." The faint chemical scent of nylon is nearly lost under the warmth of her skin and her sweat. Tim doesn't really hear himself till her back stiffens a little under his hand, and he hastily adds, "In a good way. I mean---"

Robin laughs, shoving his shoulders till he's flat on his back again. "I get you, Boy Wonder. Good thing too, or I'd've had to kick your ass."

He grins before he thinks about it; she's extremely distracting. "You could try." Especially when she growls, just like that, and kisses him just that hard.

When she leans back this time she strips off her gauntlets quickly, using her teeth; he has half a mind to stop her and pull them off himself, feel their texture on his tongue and her laugh and her pulse accelerating as she'd watch him, but he's beginning to want in rather focused ways. He digs his fingers into her wide soft hips, broad straps catching on the calluses on his palms, and feels her breathe a little more roughly, feels the pulse thrumming beneath her skin, feels her hard hand as she grabs his wrist and pulls it along the harness around to the front. "Check _this_ out." She pushes his fingers across a patch of velvet above her pubic bone. He rubs it hard enough to feel the flesh beneath, to feel the shudder spread from under the pad of his thumb. "Gah, you. Mmm." Her deepened breath is gorgeous to watch as the low glint moves over her curves. "Guess what color it is?"

"Eggplant?" He splays his fingers over the velvet, up over her wavy stretch marks and the C-section scar to her round belly button, and slides them down through her damp curls.

She lets his wrist go to curve her hand over his shoulder, her thumb sliding along one of the wider scars. "Purple." There's a laugh in her voice.

"Mm." He listens to it get louder and breathier as he strokes her. Reaching down for her belt puts her armored breasts in his face; he licks one curve, tasting slick polymer and humid city air, and up as she giggles and squeezes his shoulder, up to the collar of her tunic where the material's thin enough to feel her pulse. He skims his lips over the warm delicate skin below her jaw, and she sighs and presses against him, thick solid tunic and soft skin and softer hair brushing his cheeks, and his hand bends back between them, pressed against his thigh.

When he bites her she bucks into his hand, clenching hers on his shoulder and punching him. So he does it again, and she punches harder. "Ow, you fucker," she says, breathless and happy, pulling her other hand up to smack his cheek with something cylindrical, rubbery, and intensely red even in the dimness. "After I resisted the temptation to be better hung than my boyfriend. That's gratitude---"

He pushes up to kiss her, carrying the momentum into an attempted flip, and she plants her knee and shoves him right back down. God, he loves her. "Hold still, Boy Wiggler," she pants as she pins his good leg with her knee. "I hafta tighten this." He does, for as long as it takes her to seat the dildo in the ring, her hands fumbling only a little. He looks, for a long heartbeat, at her hands proudly on her hips and the dildo between them, jauntily curved upwards and very close to the right shade of red. He watches her lipstick-dappled mouth, as she smiles a little bit wider, and her curving eyebrows wrinkling the mask.

Then Tim moves fast, curling up and pressing his answering smile to the burn scar on her hip between the straps. He bites the roughened skin, listening to her gasp as he licks down to the strap; he pushes his hand a little harder, deep enough to roll her clit with his thumb, to feel the tremble in her hands as she grabs his hair. "Ooh, God, Robin---" He drags his lips along the rough strap till they buzz, over the soft velvet, up along the cool silicone. "You--- yeah, suck it--" It's nothing like a real dick, smooth and slippery and featureless in his mouth, cool till it takes on his body heat, but he can smell her richly and she's bucking in time with his bobs and clenching around his fingers. It's almost like he's blowing her, incongruous as the thought is. He can consider the power of suggestion later, and laugh at himself while he does. After he comes. After she does.

"Oh--- Tim---" Voice softening into something sweet, curled around his head and yanking his hair till his scalp aches, she comes tight around his hand, and he deep-throats the dildo for good measure, laughing a little at himself anyway, and pulls off just before her hands stroke down out of his hair and along his neck. She gasps a little and leans on his shoulders and trembles for a few moments, her thigh soft and warm against his cheek; then she shoves him back and pounces, biting his mouth and squeezing his biceps, her hands strong enough to dent bruises into his skin even without her gauntlets. She's Robin. She moans into his mouth and he clutches her hips as it echoes through him, and pushes up for more.

She rips her mouth away from his, and he wants to pursue but... Robin's got a plan. "You---" Chest heaving, she looks down at him, into him, her forehead crinkled above her mask; she trails her fingers down his chest, tweaking his nipple on the way, her smile sharpening when he shivers. "Mmm. You want something, Robin?"

"Yes, I do, Robin." He hooks his fingertips over the harness straps, pressing them into her skin, then tugs.

She bares her teeth at him, dragging her hands over his thighs. "What do you say, Horny Wonder?"

_Please, please,_ he thinks. "Fuck me, Robin," he says, ignoring how his face heats in favor of her flaring grin and her growl. She pushes one of his thighs up over hers, reaching into a pocket for a packet of lube, and he wants her so badly... he wants to lunge up again and make her hold him down, and it's even better when she slicks herself with a nasty wet sound and strokes his dick so lightly he groans and shakes from the inside out.

Her fingers are slick and strong and wonderfully familiar, and he braces himself and pushes to meet her, to get them in deeper. "Damn," she murmurs, with that familiar little edge of surprise. "You're so---" Another push; he grits out a mouthful of 'n's and she pauses to listen. "God. I could---"

She could, and blow his mind, but not tonight. He rolls his head against the pillow, gulping for air against the fullness. "_Fuck_ me." It's cracked enough for begging, and her hand pushing his thigh back is as triumphant as her laugh.

The first blunt nudge makes his eyes roll shut, and his thighs fall further apart across hers, the holsters pressing up into his skin, and he feels everything and nothing else as she hums and pushes and _yes_. It's slicker and smoother and harder than a real cock, and that makes all kinds of sense, because it's supposed to feel different. Steph's fucking him. Robin's fucking him.

"Oh," she says, asking and answered at once, and she tenses beneath his hands and shoves all the way in, hard. His eyes roll back into the flashing lights behind them, and he gasps and he's moaning, and she sounds worried and amazed and exultant. "Sweetie?"

"Yes," he says, reaching blindly; his fingers curve around her waist and she presses her hand over his, twining their fingers, clutching his hip a little more tightly. Her next breath still sounds a little worried, and he tries to say 'yes' again, and it comes out, "please".

She laughs, breathless and wild. "Uh-huh." And thrusts again. And again. Each thrust knocks his prostate, knocks a wave of sensation up his spine, knocks a shout up the back of his throat. Tim clenches his teeth on it, hearing "ngh" spilling out, and clutches Robin's hard strong hand and soft curved waist, pushing back against her as she fucks him, hard and steady and perfect.

"Whoa." Her voice is half a moan, low and wondering, and he swallows his shout to hear her. "Whoa. I didn't--- God, look at you. You're really getting off on this." His back is arching, driving his head back into the pillow, but he tries to lift it enough to nod. "Damn. I didn't know it'd---" She leans further over him, and the shift in angle knocks a yelp loose, and under his own noise he can hear her breathing hitch. "You're so hot," she moans, sounding as lost to this as he is, and he squeezes her hand and pushes up into her thrusts.

He isn't even thinking about coming. If he can think, he's thinking about her around him and in him, so close her hair's brushing his face, all over him. But she's gasping above him, growling "come on, Boy Wonder"; she drags her fingers over his balls and curls them around his dick, two strokes for each thrust, and he really should be able to count them but all he can do is crack apart under the rhythm and come for her, as if she drives it out of him, and maybe she does.

He comes down moaning, and she moans with him. "Wow. I felt that." She's down over him, hands either side of his chest. "I---" She slows, and no, he doesn't want to stop yet. Not ever, but really not yet. He thrashes into a head-shake and opens his eyes, and she's staring at him, her eyes obviously wide behind her mask, her forehead moist and shiny. "You sure?"

"Yeah." One hand's still on her hip, and he clutches with all his strength and pulls. "Keep-- please---"

Her grin is open and lopsided, and she bends to kiss the side of his mouth and pushes up enough to resume the angle, and keeps on going. It crackles and he's sore and it's absolutely wonderful, and he clutches her waist and presses his knee into her back and drives against her as she fucks him, gasping and laughing and watching him. Till she makes that noise she does when she's about to come, only high and surprised, and collapses shaking on him, and they cling to each other as they shudder to a stop.

Tim is sore and out of breath, covered with sweat and Steph, and he's completely happy. Steph presses her face against his jaw and laughs, soft and tired and ticklish into his skin. "Oh, God. I just _came_." She clutches his arm, breathing hard against him. "I--- wow. You were so--- God, you were so _hot_, Tim, so..."

Out of control, probably. Tim blushes, and blushes harder because he's blushing, and tries to find a part of himself that can move. Most of his body reports that it's no longer solid. He tries to say something and manages, "Mmh."

"Tim?" Steph lifts her head from his shoulder. "Tim? Are you even awake?"

Words would be good. "No." Her giggle is expected and sweet.

When she sits up, he groans, and a little louder as she disengages from him. "Ugh, I can't sleep in this getup. And don't tell me you've slept in yours." Tim makes a non-committal noise and reaches up to her tunic. "Lemme do that, Melted Brain Boy," she insists, so he loosens and unstraps the harness while she disarms the second panel and cracks off her tunic; he indulges himself in a little stroke where her ass meets her thigh, running his fingers along the soft flesh until she snorts with amusement and yanks the harness off so it smacks his hand. As her bra comes off over her head and everything goes over the edge of the bed, an orderly little chunk of Tim's soul wants to fold the clothes up neatly, but all of his body and the vast majority of his mind want to stay precisely where he is as Steph, soft and damp and naked, settles back down beside him.

"Hey," she says. He opens his eyes to see hers glinting sleepily out of her mask, just before she peels it off and rubs away stray bits of glue. Her hair is wild all around them, and she's heavy-lidded and warm and so beautiful it hurts a little. "Happy Birthday, Tim."

"Mm. Thanks, Steph." He pushes a straggling lock of her hair up off her forehead, and cups her soft smiling cheek in his hand. "Thank you."

"Love you," she whispers, dropping her head to his shoulder. He strokes her neck and her arm, warm skin laced with a few linear knife-scars. "Love you too," Tim murmurs, and as Steph snuggles a little tighter to him he smiles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The One Where Tim Climbed Through Steph's Window](https://archiveofourown.org/works/138569) by [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye)




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